Ptolus: The Prison of the Sahuagin Queen

After a half-hour of approaching their new surroundings as though something was going to jump out and eat them at any moment, it becomes clear to the group that, somehow, they really are in a desert, and not beneath Ptolus any more, and that the temperature is rising.
 

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Garn wipes sweat from his brow as he trudges along, the heat putting him into a foul humor. "How !@#$ing far is it to that door." He gripes.
 

Garn wipes sweat from his brow as he trudges along, the heat putting him into a foul humor. "How !@# far is it to that door." He gripes.
"It looks a fair distance off." Garnet raises a hand to his brow to block the sun from his eyes. "But who knows what awaits us ahead..." Using his spear as a walking stick Garnet follows his companions towards the distant door.
 




As the group marches through the desert, the sun steadily rises higher and higher in the sky, making them hotter than they have ever been. At first, the lack of humidity seems like a blessing, and an exotic one to the residents of perpetually damp Ptolus but the unfamiliar parching thirst that accompanies it is unwelcome and more than a little frightening.

Neither door, before or after them, appears appreciably closer.
 

Garn says orcs prefer night time.

Garn shades his eyes and looks about "See any place we can hole up in some !@#$ing shade until night? We're !@#$ing roasting out here under that !@#$ing sun."
 

"Well this certainly does appear to be an effective prison. Perhaps we should split up. Half go to one door and the other towards the other door." offers Maugra.
 


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